Restless Pacing and Whispered Promises

Restlessness settles heavy in my feet as I pace the wooden floors of my small home. I say home, though it lacks the people that usually make a home. It's hard to except that home is sometimes a place where only one person sleeps. Home seems to be too big a word for that. But, one person does sleep here. And, it IS my home- I know this because it's filled with the things I've collected and gathered through the years. Books and paintings. Trinkets and framed smiles. Soft things for comfort.

My home: filled with things, but not people. My small, quaint home- perfectly arranged for my perfect comfort. Yet, suddenly I feel betrayed by my home, as it threatens to swallow me in a cavern of things.

Empty of people. Except one. Me and my home.

Pacing. Pacing.

I turn on the television for some noise. But, then mute it because it's not the noise I need. I watch the colors dance around the screen. I watch as it tells stories of other lives, in other homes. Silently played out scenes of life and family. Movement and color interact with me in a disconnected way. But, no comfort can be found in disconnected interaction. I turn the television off.

Pacing. Pacing.

A stack of bills. A stack of magazines. A stack of books. I choose the books, and ruffle through them absently. Flipping worn pages, and reading old words. The thoughts of other people. Other people in other homes. I'm unattached to their lives, yet reading their words. Suddenly that feels hollow. Not enough. I put the books back down.

Pacing. Pacing.

I talk out loud to God. I like the way my voice bounces off the wooden floors. I talk and talk and talk. I pace and talk to God. I talk about my empty home and my restless feet. I talk about my heart that aches in one beat and leaps in the next. He understands that- deep in my chest, I feel He understands that. An aching and leaping heart. Sadness and Joy. Loneliness and contentment. He understands.

I'm tired of pacing and I'm tired of talking. I sit. I listen for sound. I listen for Him to fill the silence. And, He does, in His way. He fills the silence with whispered promises in my ear. And I know- in my chest, I know- that His whispers will, one day, become loud and booming realities.

I recall a promise that God made to Sarah. I think, in her waiting for the fulfillment of that problem, she probably experienced similar moments of pacing and restlessness. But, God's whispered promise became her booming reality. "God has made me laugh" she said, "and all who hear will laugh with me."

In my chest, I understand exactly how Sarah must have felt.